


Stand By Me

by Nyx_Ships



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Cheating, Crying, Death, Delitoonz - Freeform, Kinda, M/M, Minor Character Death, Ohmlirious brotp, Sad, Twoshot, Vantoonz - Freeform, boyfriend - Freeform, hes a good friend dude, i dont know, not really - Freeform, ohm is the listener
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-10-19 00:10:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10628094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyx_Ships/pseuds/Nyx_Ships
Summary: Once upon a time, that song used to be his savior.Now, it was nothing but his torturer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, MiracleDreamer, or Fantasyeuphoriaandlace on tumblr, made a mistake and told me anything written to the Florence + The Machine version of "Stand By Me" would make her cry.
> 
>  
> 
> Let's just say, I took it to a whole new level of sad.
> 
>  
> 
> This is part one of a two part fic.

  
\--------------------------------------

He knew.

He knew the second Luke came home, smelling like sex and alcohol.

He could put two and two together.

But he never, never in his mind, thought that his boyfriend, his true love, would do this to him.

Never in a millions years did he ever think Luke would pull the ultimate betrayal.

Was he bored with him. Was Jon not enough for him? Was Jon doing something wrong in the relationship? There had to be a reason.

Whatever it was that drove the older to cheating, it didn't make the situation any less agonizing.

Of course, Jon had known for quite some time. He was just waiting for the biggest piece of evidence, the thing that would truly cement his fate.

And it had just shown itself.

"Get out." His words were harsh and demanding, covering his broken heart.

"What?" His words were clipped and confused, as if he didn't know the reason why.

"You heard me," Jon looked up from his spot on the couch, eyes digging into Luke's own, "Get. Out."

Luke had no reason to act so shocked about his words, they had been arguing for two hours, over the text Luke received.

He had been in the kitchen at the time, and Jon was on the couch watching tv, snuggled under a pile of blankets, momentarily forgetting his suspicions to enjoy his night, when he glanced over at the new message on Luke's phone, from an unnamed contact, which the older had mistakenly left on the arm of the couch.

_You left your jacket here, swing by later for it and maybe a quickie?_

That was all the evidence Jon needed.

Two hours of yelling and things being thrown across the room, and Jon was tired.

But he was also done.

Done with the lies, the secrecy, done with Luke. He loved that man more than life itself, but he couldn't stand by and pretend that he wasn't hurt, broken. He couldn't just let it go.

He wanted, needed, Luke out of his house. Not out of his life, though. He still needed Luke as a friend, but obviously a relationship wasn't in order for the two.

But right now, he was angry and upset, and he really wanted Luke away from him.

He couldn't stand to sleep in the same bed as him, let alone the same house. Not while knowing his body had been touched by another.

Jon stared at the wall, voice rough and quiet as he almost begged for Luke to go.

"Please, get out. Just-just take your stuff and leave."

Luke was quiet for a few moments before he finally moved, grabbing his phone and going to their shared bedroom, where he stayed for a good half hour, presumably packing his things.

Jon stayed in his spot on the couch, a couple tears slipping from his eyes, but he willed them to stop while he wrapped himself in a blanket and sipped on the tea he had made himself prior to the argument.

He stared at the tv, not really paying attention to what was on, more so using the colors and noise as a distraction.

He really thought Luke loved him. He really thought Luke was the one, the man to stand by his side and keep him sane.

What a mistake.

But, in his defense, in all the years Jon had known the bearded man, he had never once done this to any of his significant others.

So what made him do it now?

Jon had no idea, and as he listened to the undeniable sound of Luke hitting the wall in the next room, he still couldn't figure it out.

When Luke came out of the room, he had a couple suitcases packed with all of his stuff, save his guns and some of his shoes. He had his phone in his back pocket, and it buzzed with a new message, but he didn't bother answering it.

He cleared his throat as he stood by the door, hand on the knob as he spoke.

"I'll be back later to grab the rest of my stuff..."

Jon gave a small nod, head down as he stared at his drink, taking note of his reflection, a question coming into his brain. The question he so badly wanted an answer to.

He swallowed harshly, and just as Luke was opening the door, his voice filled the silence.

"Who is it."

Luke stayed silent, not knowing how to tell the younger male who he had been sleeping with, who he had been going to on occasion.

Jon sighed, eyes closing and hands tightening on the mug in his hands, voice a little louder, a little less inviting.

"I just wanna know who it is."

A few more minutes of tense silence before Luke answered, pushing Jon further into his pit of despair.

"Evan."

If his heart hadn't broke all the way before, it sure as hell did now.

His best friend.

Jon didn't speak after that. He just bit his lip and stared at his tea, a sick feeling in his gut as he waited.

Not until he heard the door closing and the starting of a car did he let himself cry.

At that moment, he really let himself go, placing his tea on the coffee table and curled his legs to his chest, eyes releasing tear after tear as he let out the sobs he had been so carefully holding back.

He cried, and he cried hard. Probably harder than he ever had, but it was understandable. Why wouldn't it be.

And he didn't feel ashamed, no, he deserved to let the tears fall, he had just been through a Hell like no other. But, at least it couldn't get worse than this, right?

Wrong.

His phone went off, the ringtone painful to hear.

_So darling, darling, stand by me_

It was their song.

_Oh, stand by me_

His favorite song that Luke would sing to him when he was upset.

How ironic it was now.

He picked up the phone with shaking hands and a heavy heart, willing the tears to stop and his voice to sound normal, to end the song and start a conversation.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Jon. I tried to message you but you weren't answering."

Ryan.

He always called at the worst times, didn't he?

"Oh, sorry, haha. I was takin' a nap, whas'up?"

He heard the soft breathing of the male on the other line, as if he wasn't sure of what to say.

"I was just wondering if you wanted to record in a little while-are you alright? You sound upset."

He could always see through Jon's fake happiness.

Jon put him on mute for a second while he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and answering with a more joyful tone.

"Yeah, I'm fine dude. S'prolly 'cause I just woke up, haha."

He could feel the reluctance on Ryan's side, could feel the worry radiating off his friend.

"You sure?"

"Positive," he paused for effect, "what game did ya have in mind, man?"

He could hear Ryan sighing, and knew the older one wasn't going let it go. He was going to push Jon to tell him the issue.

But Jon didn't want to share this issue.

"I was thinking we could do some Battleship. I would pick Deceit, but Bryce is asleep and Luke isn't answering his phone-listen, are you sure there's nothing you wanna talk about?"

The sharp inhale after he mentioned Luke must've given Jon away. And at this point, Jon was on the verge of bawling again.

He knew he wouldn't last long before he broke down.

So, he took a deep breath, swallowed the lump in his throat, and spoke.

"I'm not in a good place right now..."

He heard a noise that must've been Ryan opening his fridge.

"What happened, Delirious?"

The heartbroken man closed his eyes at the nickname and the concern in Ryan's voice.

He exhaled shakily and bit his lip, finally tearing down his walls and bursting out his secret.

"Luke cheated on me..."

The words were harsh and abrupt, with a hint of pain, and Ryan stayed silent on the other line, frozen in place at the news.

He was confused, completely caught by surprise. This wasn't likely to be a joke, but he half hoped it was. Luke wouldn't possibly do that, would he?

30 seconds of Ryan thinking later, and he could hear Jon crying. It wasn't a sound he was accustomed to, it was one he had hoped he'd never hear. But the fact that Luke was the reason for those heartbreaking cries is what made it ten times worse.

Ryan could only manage two words at the moment.

"Oh, Jon...."

Jon hated the way he said it. It was filled with pity, and he absolutely hated being pitied. So he stopped his tears for a moment to speak to his friend, hoping for some type of empathy.

"I don't know what to do, Ry. I really don't know what to do. For fuck's sake, I loved him, I still do love him. But I can't look at him the same..."

He heard Ryan sigh and shift before he got an actual response.

"Jesus, I don't know, Jon. This shit is rough. Does he know you know?"

Jon swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, then realized he wasn't face to face with Ryan, and spoke.

"I kicked him out, man. I could barely look at him. Just a little bit ago."

He could feel Ryan's reluctance to ask, but he pressured him anyways, Jon was an open book now that would be read, whether he wanted to or not.

"What is it, Ryan?"

"....with who?"

Jonathan should've known this question would pop up, but it didn't make it any easier. He could feel the tears flowing haphazardly down his face, and his voice was shaky as he answered.

"Fucking Evan. He was sleeping with Evan, Ohm."

The sudden use of his nickname surprised Ryan, but not as much as Luke's infidelity. Out of all the people in the world, he never thought Luke and Evan would agree to something like this.

It was a slap in the face to him, he could only imagine how Jonathan felt. This explained Luke's absence in calls.

He could hear Jonathan sniffling, and it hurt him that he couldn't hug his poor friend. He hated it when any of his friends were upset, and this situation was no exception.

"...I'm so sorry, Jon. Listen, if you ever need to talk about it more, or just want someone to listen, you know I'm always down."

Jon's hollow laugh filled Ryan's ears, and he shivered at the lack of warmth in it. But his words were emotional and thankful, so Ryan was okay with it.

"I know...thanks, Ryan."

\---------------------------------------------

Three days.

Three days and Jon hadn't heard from Luke.

It was the longest they had gone without any type of communication.

He was so tempted to ask Evan, but that thought quickly left his mind as his stomach dropped and he set down his groceries.

He wanted to know that Luke was doing okay, that he wasn't overworking himself or doing dumb shit because of their breakup.

But he was also reluctant to try and call him.

A part of him wanted to run into Luke's arms and cry with him, hoping for a different ending, one that wouldn't leave him so broken.

But another part of him didn't want anything to do with Luke at the moment. He wanted space and time to himself, to really tell himself this wasn't his fault.

Ultimately, Jon chose to let things be.

\---------------------------------------------

A week.

Before he knew it, a week had gone by and he still hadn't heard from Luke, from his ex.

By this time, Jon was actually starting to get a little worried, and he instantly assumed the worst.

What if Luke had locked himself up in a room and shut himself out from everyone?

He shook that thought off though, instead opting for grabbing his phone and texting both Bryce and Ryan, asking if they had heard from Luke, or had any idea what he was up to.

It was an instant reply from both boys, and one that disappointed Jon slightly.

Both responses were a negative, and Jon had to stop himself from having a mini panic attack.

It wasn't like Luke to just not talk to him, he would always try something. It wasn't like him to just never call or text again.

And it definitely wasn't like Luke to abandon the rest of his friends over a relationship.

Jon clenched the Xbox controller in his hands, the game on the screen doing nothing to distract him from his thoughts.

He had died too many times to count already, and wasn't having any fun, it just kept reminding him of playing with Luke, and that was the last thing he wanted.

So, with a huff and a quick grab for the remote, he thoughtlessly switched to cable tv and flipped through the channels randomly, stopping on the news to see what horrible shit had happened today, and what unlucky person had to deal with it.

He listened haphazardly to the news that wasn't so new at all. It was all the same thing, all the same issues.

Some burglary, some bomb threat, another Trump fuck up, nothing new.

He listened to the people's voices as they described the recent news, and surprisingly, it was actually a bit calming, the lady's voice was gentle and sweet, as if she wasn't reading off a cue card and instead whispering into his ear.

It was the one thing that was distracting him, and he appreciated it. He needed this.

Jon was about to fall asleep when the news lady's words caught his ears, something familiar and alarming in them, and he instantly perked up, sitting straight, eyes on the screen.

She spoke a little louder, looking directly into the camera

"....10 people killed in a mass shooting at WalMart last week, news on the victims are now being publicly released."

Something about this was off, something didn't sit well with Jonathan, and he felt like he needed to keep watching, keep listening as he learned more of the event.

He paid attention for once, waiting for the names and pictures to show up on the screen.  His stomach was twisting in knots, and his eyes held the reflection of crime tape and a mass amount of blood.

He waited and waited, for what seemed like an eternity, before names were listed off, pictures of the victims accompanying them.

".....Paul Anderson"

"....Amelia Crause...."

".....Leah Damon..."

He listened and listened, his stomach getting tighter and tighter as the names came closer to number ten. His brain was telling him what he already knew, but his heart had refused to even acknowledge it.

"...Corinne Gibson..."

"...Ashley Hewitt..."

"...Jordan Holmes..."

He tried to steady his breath, but he found himself shaking, and when his phone rang, he ignored it, too invested in the victims of this crime, too scared to answer.

"...Tara Moore...."

"...Christopher Moore..."

"...James Nicholson..."

He was silently hoping, praying that that last picture and name wouldn't belong to someone he knew.

The alphabetical order of the names wasn't helping him much, and the furrowing of brows and a small frown on the lady's face made everything seem slower, worse.

He couldn't stand the anticipation, the lady pausing for a moment to read the last name.

Jon held his hands together, throat dry and eyes glistening as a picture finally showed up with an accompanying name.

A picture and a name that was all too familiar, all too heartbreaking.

In the reflection of watery blue orbs, you could just barely make out a pair of sunglasses and a beard.

"......and Luke Patterson. Since the murders, the suspect has been caught, Mr....."

Jonathan stopped listening at that point, he stopped holding his hands together, his body was weak, he was frozen in place, waiting for the lady to say it was a joke, to say that everyone was fine.

He waited for there to be a mistake, some sort of wishful thinking that he knew wasn't at all realistic.

He couldn't move, couldn't speak, only cry, and as tears streamed down his face, he stared at the picture of his Luke on the screen. It was a picture he had taken, a selfie that had both men in it.

He was smiling widely, arms around Jon in a warm, possessive embrace that had Jon feeling the ghosting touch of at that moment.

He began to shake violently, and it wasn't long until he was throwing his remote at the screen, the small object hitting the giant flat screen with a small thud, landing on the carpeted floor with little sound.

He brought his knees to his chest and watched as the tv powered down, due to a connection error, but he didn't care. He couldn't stand to look at the news anyways.

Jon felt his entire world crashing down, everything burning and smoking before him, leaving him amongst ashes of a once happy life.

Everything suddenly made sense.

A week ago, Luke had been murdered. That's why he hadn't called. That's why he hadn't texted, hadn't had any type of contact.

Everything suddenly became hard.

Jon found himself unable to walk or function, and the only thing he could do was shake and cry as he came to the realization that Luke Patterson, Cartoonz, his only love, was no longer living.

He was dead and gone, lost to a bullet, and Jon couldn't help but feel like it was his fault.

Luke didn't take any of his guns when he left, nothing. Everything was still at Jon's house, including his concealed carry on, the one thing Luke always had with him.

But, in the heat of the moment, he must've forgotten to take it with him.

Jon sobbed out words of nonsense, his head hitting the back of the couch as he did so, tears wetting his blankets and clothes, but that didn't matter to him in the least.

He let himself completely break down, cries ripping from his throat in a way that would break anyone's heart, and he found himself longing for Luke's hugs, the soft embrace that would always keep him sane.

But now? He was completely crazy, crazy with anger and lies, sadness and despair, far worse than Luke's initial betrayal.

Luke had cheated on him, yes, but Jon didn't wish death on the man, he couldn't possibly live without the bearded man in his life.

Now he had to.

_When the night has come_

_And the land is dark_

_And the moon_

_is the only light we'll see_

Jonathan felt his heart break a little bit more, and his sanity fade further. How dare the world do this to him. How dare his phone ring, tone that of his song that instantly brought thoughts of his dead one.

He couldn't pick it up, couldn't bring himself to answer the damn thing.

He just stayed on the couch, with his knees to his chest, rocking and crying as the song played and played, the person calling not willing to give up.

He stayed like that, his blankets covering his form, letting the song make its way into his ears, drowning him in memories and an overwhelming emotional pain that he hoped he'd never experience.

Once upon a time, that song used to be his savior.

Now, it was nothing but his torturer.


	2. Stand By Me (Part 2)

 

—————————————————

 

The funeral was the hardest part.

Not because he had to watch them lower Luke into his final resting spot, not because he had to accept hugs and make conversation with everyone there, not because everyone pitied him and kept asking if he was okay, no.

It was hard because of who else was there, standing in the back, dressed in their darkest clothing, completely silent, not daring to take a step towards Jonathan and his grieving self.

They stood out, with their uncomfortable stance and the way they held their arms at their sides, as if ready for a fight.

Jonathan took one look back there and his breathing hitched. His teeth were clenched as he tried to keep himself from crying, and he was thankful for the hand on his back that rubbed gently, reminding him that he was okay.

Jon reached for the arm by his side, squeezing it and whispering a small, "thanks, Ry." under his breath.

He received a nod and a small, reassuring nudge in response, and he let his hatred go for a second, so he could mourn in peace.

It wasn't until after the funeral did he really lose himself.

After all the hand shaking, hugs, and pitied apologies shoved in his face, after the lowering of the casket, and after the last mourner had left, Jonathan let himself shed a couple tears as he walked rather briskly to his car, cursing himself slightly for looking back at the fresh grave.

When he got in the car, he turned on the radio and tried to drown out his thoughts with music, but it hardly helped.

It just forced him to think louder.

And when it started to pour, as if in conjunction with Jonathon's tears, he cursed the gods and goddesses above for everything.

He kept his jaw clenched tightly, along with his hands on the wheel as he drove. He drove through the pouring rain, skies gray and sickly, wanting nothing more than to be home, where he could curl up in his bed and cry for the umpteenth time that week.

He wanted to be alone in his home, where he could go over every picture, every article of clothing, every goddamn memory, and cry.

Ryan had asked him if he needed anything, wanted anything, anyone, at his house. Jonathon knew what he meant.

He wanted to know if he needed a shoulder to cry on.

But Jonathon had simply shook his head and insisted him and Bryce not worry too much. He could handle himself.

Of course, he wasn't so sure of that now.

He wasn't sure at all when he felt a fresh set of tears roll down his face and blur his surroundings. Small drops fell from his face, others sliding down his cheeks and dripping off his chin.

They left warm trails on his face and a starting puddle in his lap, trickling down, much like the rain pouring just outside his windows.

His vision blurred too much for his liking, everything in front of him just a watery mess of shapes and colors. With a sigh and a harsh swallow, Jon pulled over to the side of the road.

He couldn't keep driving while crying his eyes out. Not unless he wanted to crash.

Jonathon mentally slapped himself as his inner thoughts answered the statement rather bluntly.

Crashing might solve his issues.

He shook his head and dragged a pale hand over his face, subconsciously playing with the piercing that casually decorated his dull lips.

The same piercing that had come about from a childhood dare.....from Luke.

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the steering wheel of his car-the car Luke had bought him as a birthday present a year ago.

Everything seemed to be from Luke.

His fingers wandered aimlessly over the leather of the wheel, feeling bumpy edges and a cool surface, stopping at the sides and staying there, curling around to a steering position.

He cursed loudly, raspy, as a familiar voice came out of the radio, ready to torture him just a little bit more.

If the sky

That we look upon

Should tumble and fall

Or the mountain

Should crumble

To the sea

He gripped the wheel tightly as the lyrics poured out, along with his tears, his once favorite line of the song becoming his most hated. Because the words became relatable in a sick sense, when turned around they stood for everything Jonathon was going through.

I won't cry

I won't cry

No I won't

Shed a tear

Just as long

As you stand

Stand by me

They became a part of his world, a testimony to his misery as they were sung, going into his ear and finding their way into his brain, where they played over and over again until he was forced to break down.

He couldn't stop crying, hurting, feeling. And he hated it.

He hated everything.

Luke, stores, criminals, himself.

His hatred and sadness kept growing and growing until he was forced to scream, a scream filled with guilt and a plea for release, loud enough to be heard outside his car.

But not loud enough, unfortunately, to drown out the radio, or his phone, which was now ringing the same tune radiating from his car speakers.

One look at the caller ID and he was melting further into his state of misery, hatred taking center stage as his eyes roamed over each letter, forming the name of the person he wanted to kick from his life forever.

He couldn't bring himself to answer it. Not now.

He knew that if he answered this person, he'd break down, yell every profanity possible, threats spilling out of his lips as a form of closure.

Not only just for closure, but to also take some of the blame off himself. Because, when Jon really thought about it, this caller was also at fault for Luke's demise.

If Luke hadn't met him, if he hadn't taken Luke from Jon, the two never would've gotten into a fight, and Luke never would've left without his concealed carry on, and he would still be alive.

Still he here.

With Jonathan.

So he let the damn thing ring, ring ring, until he got a notification that he had a voicemail.

But, he wouldn't listen to it.

He didn't want to hear anything from the person who had helped betray him, ruin his relationship.

In all honesty, Jonathan just wanted to be dead.

As harsh as it sounded, it was true.

He didn't want to live anymore. He had nothing, no one, to live for anymore. He was a broken shell of a man, one who would never be whole again.

How could he ever be whole, when he just forever lost his other half?

His shitty, cheating half, but his other half nonetheless.

What was the point of living anyway, when you had nothing to look forward to, when you had nothing but the constant emptiness and sadness of loss greeting you as you walk through your door?

The way Jon looked at it, that was Hell, and he wanted none of that.

He didn't need the constant reminder that he would forever be unhappy. He didn't need the slew of memories that would send him into the breakdown of the century. He didn't need the agonizing questions from his friends that would burn into his being and leave their marks.

He just needed Luke.

And the one person he needed, was now 6 feet under and covered in dirt, with a bullet hole through their chest.

And it hurt like a bitch.

And he, well.

He didn't know what to do anymore.

He was sick and tired of acting strong, acting okay, when he was secretly dying inside, his thoughts and emotions eating him whole.

Everything was leading up to one great big breakdown, including this car ride of self-loathing and guilt. Everything was steering him in a sick direction, his hands gone from the metaphorical wheel, sadness taking full control.

As he looked down at the real steering wheel before him, held tightly, knuckles white from force, he shook his head and swallowed the lump in his throat, removing one hand from the wheel and practically punching the radio.

The music died, and Jonathan laughed.

It wasn't the only thing dead.

He shook away the sick joke and tried to swallow the ever growing lump in his throat.

But his throat was dry, and when any sound came out, it was harsh and scratched, terrifying compared to his usual bubbly words.

His nose was running, probably from the amount of crying he was currently doing, and he sniffled quietly, eyes and shoulders drooping with the heaviness of emotion on his form.

Snot pooled beneath his nose, tear streaks gathered on his face, and he felt it all, using it as a distraction. He used the back of his hand to wipe his face, noticing how cold he was, but ignoring it to focus on his sniffling.

He couldn't do this anymore.

He couldn't keep fucking walking around like everything was normal.

He was hurt, in pain, emotionally, and it felt like his emotions were tearing him apart. All he felt was hatred, fear, pain, and this undeniable sense of loss.

He could've sworn there was an actual hole in his heart, a piece missing. And he couldn't do anything about it. All he could do was cry and beg for this all to be one shitty dream.

But begging was useless, and a dream was just as stupid to think about. He didn't get the privilege of a dream. Instead, he earned himself a harsh reality that would haunt him to his own grave.

It was punishment enough to him, but somehow, it got worse.

With every reminder, every memory, every little thing that screamed "Luke", he felt his whole world really, truly crumbling, falling apart.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

So instead, he drove.

He drove all the way back to their-his house, straight through traffic lights and stop signs, not giving them a single glance as his foot pressed on the gas and his hands clenched the steering wheel, worrying his pierced lip between pearly whites once every now and then.

Luke used to yell at him for that.

He kept going, down the roads, turning when needed, not stopping to wave at his neighborhood friends who only looked at him in pity, scowling lightly and tapping a finger against the wheel impatiently as he tried to get home.

Luke would always tell him to calm down when he did that.

He took a sharp turn down his road and followed the path to his driveway, pulling into it harshly and slamming on the brakes, his body lurching forward ever so slightly.

Luke always made him park slowly and safely to make sure he didn't do that.

He pulled himself out of his car, stuffing his otherwise neglected phone into his back pocket and slamming the car door shut, not bothering with locking it as he trudged up the steps and into the house.

Luke usually made sure the car was locked himself before going to bed.

He kicked his shoes off and let them land somewhere random in the house, pulling off his coat and throwing it onto the floor, walking past the kitchen, living room, dining room, bathrooms, straight to their-his bedroom, pulling off articles of clothing as he went.

Luke always made him pick up his clothes so there wasn't a mess in the morning.

He made his way to his dresser and pulled out his pajamas, the teddy bear pants and matching colored blue t-shirt, shedding the last of his death ready dress up clothes and replacing them with his comfortably safe, childlike sleeping clothes.

Luke had bought him that pajama set last Christmas.

Jonathan made his way to his bed and fell into it, on his stomach, one hand over the edge of the bed, hanging limp as the other was used to throw the large comforter over his form, absent mindedly reaching said arm across the bed to drape over a chest that wasn't there.

Luke always accepted his late night touches with a tired eagerness.

Luke.

He couldn't help but notice the empty feeling in his room, his gut.

His heart.

The empty side of the bed that belonged to his lover, that still belongs to him. The one that had held the bearded man until noon, when the two would sleep in from filled evenings and late nights laced with love and affection.

The side of the bed that had sometimes held two bodies, when Jonathan was feeling rather clingy and would crawl on top of Luke, the older man accepting the form of love with arms wrapped around a slim waist, noses nearly touching.

The same side of the bed that would join with the other, through clasped hands and entangled legs, soft breaths and slowly rising chests, completely domestic, entirely innocent.

Yet also joining in the middle through creaking springs and clenched fists, ragged breaths and enticing whispers, completely exciting, entirely sinful.

But, it was empty now. Sitting atop it only a handful of memories that felt like rocks in Jonathan's mind, but at the same time leaving him feeling completely hollow.

He found himself subconsciously moving his hand around on the floor, moving his fingers over the rough wood, dipping underneath the bed.

His fingers ended up touching something entirely different from the cold oak, the object soft and worn, somewhat thick, definitely cool to the touch from being on the floor for so long.

Job wrapped his frigid fingers around it, pulling it out from it's hiding spot and immediately regretting his actions.

In his hands was Luke's dark red hoodie he wore when he was running out to grab something, or going to the gym, sometimes even just to wear around the house.

Jonathan felt his heart shatter for the millionth time that night, and all he could do was hug the damn thing to his chest and breathe in Luke's scent, mint and cologne, that had miraculously still been on his hoodie.

He sat up in his bed and bit his lip, holding back tears as he did the only thing he thought fitting: put on his dead, cheating boyfriend's sweatshirt.

He tugged the soft fleece over his cold, barely together body, smiling weakly at the size.

He had always been quite a bit smaller than Luke.

It was huge on him, covered his hands and went down to his thighs, but it was oddly comforting.

It made him feel closer to Luke, even if he didn't know how to feel about him in that exact moment. He was so undeniably lost without him.

So undeniably, absolutely lost.

Fuck.

Jonathan officially didn't know what to do.

And he hated himself for it.

Just as much as he hate-loved Luke.


End file.
